Sunset Beach SP, Oregon
Distance traveled today: 56.8 miles, Od: 3395, Average speed: 9.8 mph, Max speed: 30.1 mph, 5 hours 44 minutes
The fog is so heavy here, it hangs in the air and creates dew on the leaves which collect and fall like rain. I am sharing the hiker biker site with my Canadian friends of last night, a man and his daughter, another single female rider, and a single young man named Chris. He lost his job, spent half of his savings on the best bike he could afford, and left his house in Everett, Washington to take a ferry to Bremerton and begin his ride down the coast. I passed him today, just before one of the townships and thought he must be a local. He had a backpack strapped to his back rack and a strange contraption strapped to his back which held, of all things, a narrow couch cushion. He sleeps on a floating/pool air mattress in an orange plastic tube tent. He wears a heavy chain around his neck and camo army pants along with a camo skate helmet. He is the most excited about this trip of any of us.
Karen, the other female ride, seems really cool. She is really speedy and I think has inspired me to downsize my load.
Tomorrow is my day off. I am so excited. I just hope the weather clears out some. I’d love to see this view I have been told about. Most of today was riding through dune country; not often I could see the dunes here and there, but they are massive! But my view was obstructed by trees.
Miles flew by today! At Elbow lake, I saw hosts of osprey. So beautiful! They were chirping to each other. I crossed Smith River a few times and Coos Bay, once. I ate lunch at Umpqua Lighthouse, in the cold fog and bought bread at Winchester Bay at an awesome bakery. I think I could move to any small town anywhere if I learned how to really really bake. Not fancy, jut good and plentiful. People would come.
No phone convo with JE tonight. I have no service on my [mobile] phone. I love that sweet man. I wonder why I...
July 10, 2011
That last sentence dangles in my journal, unfinished. My train of thought, lost.
In the early hours, campgrounds are peaceful. That morning I woke before most of the camp and packed my gear, ate breakfast and left. My goal was to be on the road before those trucks and motor homes. Those first 40 miles went so quickly.
Fear is a tricky thing, sometimes it has no tangible cause. It can wrap itself around your brain and not leave room for rational thought. Those first few days, solo on the trail, I fought with that fear. It would well in my throat and cause me to gag. Standing by the road at Elbow Lake, watching those osprey dive and flap, I choked on my fear as I tried to swallow my bagel. Only my resolve to continue and knowing that others were out there on the road doing the same thing I was doing kept me moving forward. That is not entirely true. The thought of making a call for someone to come pick me up while I waited there, roadside was completely contrary to what I knew I was made of: I am made of stronger stuff than that. I could not return home with that failure forever hanging over me.
My tour around Winchester was quick. The marina was flooded with small boats and tourists. As I worked my way up the hill toward Umpqua Lighthouse, there was a crowded turn off to view sand dunes. The dunes were covered with people on ORVs and dirt bikes. I watched for a few moments, intrigued more by the conversations of the onlookers than the motorbikes. It seemed everywhere I went, the conversation was about hunting, fishing, lighthouse glass (from tourists), and motor sports. Even the girls in the bathrooms! Occasionally people talked about the weather: fog on the coast meant inland was hot.
My road wound in and around the wind swept hills. The coast was visible at times. There were so many bridges, all intricate and beautifully bespeaking the moment in history when they were conceived. Riding into Coo's Bay seemed to take forever, there was a huge side wind that swept up from the water. Within a few miles, the hot day turned cold and dense with fog. I rode the last dozen or so miles through fog wearing my warm layers and my lights.
Thinking the campground was in close proximity, I stopped at a convenience store to pick up a few things. As I stood waiting in line, a middle aged woman with crazy red hair and heavy eye make up gaupped up at me. She stared and stared until I asked if there was anything I could help her with. That seemed to give her license to let fly with horrified words of warning about the dangers of the road, strangers and cold weather. Her tirade lasted until I had finished buying my potato, onion and milk. I left quickly and got back the safety of the road. The last stop I made before camp, was at a fish shop, where I picked up a small tub of oysters for dinner. At camp, I turned them into oyster stew.
When I arrived at the small paddock that was to be my home for the next couple nights, there were several people already set up there. No space was dry, so I set up near some trees. But the trees were heavy with water and continuously dripped heavy drops on my tent. I moved a few feet into the middle of the clearing.
Each hiker biker site has picnic tables which are shared. I set up my little table cloth and camp kitchen and began cooking my dinner. Mid boil, my camp stove began sputtering and quickly died. I grabbed my back up can of camp gas, but the nozzle was bent and no fuel came out. The father of the father daughter combo I mentioned, offered his camp stove. I finished cooking my meal and shared it with my new friends. It was hot and nourishing.
My camp gas proved difficult to replace. It was not until I was in California for a couple days that I could replace it. That meant cold meals for a while, which was hard on the psyche during that cold bout of fog. A couple of my camp mates helped by loaning their stoves, but knowing how difficult gas is to come by, I would only boil water for tea.
One of the really cool things about cycle touring is the true sense of community that forms so quickly. People really watch out for each other. Whenever I could, I shared a meal, bread, tea. Others shared their stoves, mobile phones, money, tire tubes, know how, support. We all shared stories. The cycle touring world is kind of an amazing place.
That night, I woke and needed to use the loo. On my way back to my tent, I shone my flashlight into the paddock where I was camped. Everything was blazing with reflectors: bikes and wheels, tent lines and panniers. It was startling and beautiful. I stood smiling and wished for my camera.
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